It lay moving slightly with the rise and fall of Frodo's chest---seemingly just a small shiny trinket---although everyone else in the room knew better. And for a brief second, the Ring called to Bilbo---and the old hobbit found he could not take his eyes off it.
Mesmerized, Bilbo reached up to touch the Ring . . . and a shadow momentarily clouded his vision. He grimaced, sucking his breath in, and closed his eyes to collect himself. After a few deep breaths the shadow passed and Bilbo opened his eyes to quickly cover the Ring with the edge of Frodo's blanket. Now hidden, the urge to touch the Ring was gone.
Sighing with relief, Bilbo hugged Frodo to him more tightly before drawing his hand away to smooth back the younger hobbit's sweat-soaked bangs. Frodo lay quiescent in Bilbo's arms, his face buried in the older hobbit's shoulder, seemingly asleep. About them a few elves busied themselves with changing Frodo's bed and tending to the fire in the hearth.
Bilbo nearly jumped as he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder. Startled, he jerked his head up to see Gandalf towering over him.
The wizard spoke, his voice low. "I see Frodo is asleep then, finally. Good. And you, Bilbo, are you all right, old friend? You looked rather upset just before I came over here. Almost as if you were in pain."
Bilbo sniffed and looked at the bedside table, busying himself with pouring a cup of tea before raising his eyes to Gandalf's.
"It was . . . the Ring, Gandalf," Bilbo whispered. "For just a moment there, I saw it about Frodo's neck and felt a . . . a yearning for it. But it passed quickly."
"Ah, so that was it. The pull of the Ring. But I never had any doubts, Bilbo, that you would be able to resist its temptation---remember, you gave up the Ring willingly."
The old hobbit nodded. "Yes . . . perhaps so. At any rate, I hope I shall never have to look at it again."
"Are you certain you are all right now? Frodo still wears the Ring, after all."
"Yes, Gandalf, the feeling of wanting the Ring has passed. I am all right---although I must admit," Bilbo said as he pointedly looked down at Frodo, tucking the blankets more tightly about him, "I am feeling very much like a hobbit of over one hundred years old just now."
The wizard sighed. "Yes, old friend, I understand." He smiled. "I remember holding Frodo when he was but a boy and ill with a fever and begging for tales of the world outside the Shire. I must have spent long hours telling him epic adventure stories. Now, I suppose he has experienced enough adventure of his own that stories would likely be unwelcome."
The bundle in Bilbo's arms stirred slightly and a weak voice issued from it. "No, Gandalf . . . I will always enjoy your stories---especially here. Rivendell seems made for stories . . . as long as they are happy. I think I've had enough of dark tales for a while . . ." The voice trailed off wearily.
The wizard patted Frodo's shoulder gently, his eyes clouded with sadness.
"Frodo, my lad," said Bilbo, shifting the hobbit in his arms a bit, "if you are awake drink some ginger tea for me. All right? Here." He was just about to take the cup from the bedside table when a gasp of pain escaped Frodo and he stiffened for a moment in Bilbo's arms.
"Frodo? Frodo, what is it?" Bilbo asked him quickly. "Where does it hurt?"
Barely able to speak, Frodo choked, "My stomach--it hurts."
"There, there, my dear boy," Bilbo soothed, rocking his charge gently as he looked up and exchanged a glance with Gandalf. The wizard took one look at Frodo's pale sweat-soaked face and headed for the door to fetch Elrond or Aragorn.
But at the same moment Aragorn and Sam bustled back into the room carrying a steaming vat of athelas water, fresh hot water bottles, and various other medicinal herbs and sundries. And in Bilbo's lap, Frodo relaxed again, the spasm of pain having passed.
"Aragorn," Gandalf told him, once again peering down at the small patient, "Frodo was in some severe pain only a moment ago."
The ranger nodded, his face grim, as he set his supplies down and went to Frodo, feeling his pulse and forehead before gently easing him off the older hobbit's lap. It was a bit difficult since Frodo had wrapped his arms firmly around Bilbo's neck and didn't seem to want to let go. Frodo whimpered a bit in protest as he was lifted from his warm spot and his leg slightly jostled again.
"Easy, little one," Aragorn told the hobbit in his arms as Frodo caught his breath in pain, "It's back to bed with you now. We'll give you something to ease the pain right away and help put you to sleep."
Frowning, Bilbo spoke up. "Aragorn . . . perhaps I should have held him a while longer . . ."
"No, I am all right," Frodo said wearily, his eyes still closed, "the pain is gone now, really. No need for a fuss. It is only me, the ever-accident prone hobbit . . ."
Ignoring Frodo, the ranger shook his head. "No, Bilbo, but we must keep his leg as immobile as possible and a bed is really the only way to do that. Once we get him settled he will be more comfortable, I assure you." He glanced at the weariness written in Bilbo's face. "Bilbo, truly, you could help the most by going and fetching Elrond right away. We may need to give Frodo another dose of the treacle soon. And on the way---why don't you go to supper---and have Merry and Pippin accompany you?"
Bilbo nodded. "Very well, I will get Elrond and a bite to eat. But I'll only be gone a short while---then I'm coming right back to sit with Frodo." He gathered Merry and Pippin up with a glance and the three left the room. Gandalf took Bilbo's vacated chair by the bed, his eyes questioning.
"Aragorn, was Elrond not planning on coming to check on Frodo shortly anyway?"
The ranger nodded. "Yes, Gandalf, he was planning to be here within the hour--- but it would ease my mind if he would come now." His eyes told the wizard that he was afraid for Frodo---but wouldn't voice that notion in front of the ill hobbit---or Sam, who was watching them both with eyes practically threatening to spill over with tears.
The bed was now made with fresh linens and Sam covered it with towels to keep it dry while they sponged Frodo down. The ranger gently deposited Frodo on the soft bed, carefully easing the injured leg down as the hobbit grimaced. It obvious that Frodo's calf, under the athelas compress, was swelling rapidly and becoming increasingly painful.
"May I have my blankets back? It is very cold here . . . " Frodo mumbled, his eyes closed, as he felt Aragorn and Sam unwrapping the blankets from about him. His nightshirt was still wet and clammy, sticking to him, and he shivered as the coverings came away.
"It is necessary to warm you up, Frodo," Aragorn told him gently as the ranger drew a small limp arm out of a sleeve. "Trust me, you'll be feeling better afterward. Here, Sam . . . unbutton and take this off over his head while I lift him up, that's it . . ."
"There, Mr. Frodo," Sam told him softly as he and Aragorn pulled the soaked nightshirt off, leaving the sick hobbit shivering for a moment as the cold air hit his naked body. Taking a clean towel, the ranger dabbed at Frodo's face with it and wrapped it around the hobbit's head to dry his hair. Then, he placed more towels containing the hot water bottles around him.
Aragorn and Sam worked with quiet efficiency, sponging Frodo down with the warm athelas water. Frodo did have to admit it that the warmth felt good on his skin, and he sighed and relaxed, turning his head toward the side of the bed and trying to focus.
"Aragorn?" Frodo asked as he squinted up at the ranger's face. "Bilbo . . . did Bilbo leave? I cannot seem to see clearly."
"Your blurred vision is a side effect of the poison, Frodo," Aragorn told him as he and Sam eased Frodo onto his side to wash his back. "It will go away once the venom is out of your system. And Bilbo just left to get some fresh air and a bit of supper. He will be back shortly."
At this, Frodo's eyes opened widely and he stared off into space, unable to focus clearly on Gandalf in the chair. "It's the Ring, isn't it?" Frodo asked as a sigh escaped him. "Bilbo is not coming back, is he? Because I wear the Ring and he does not want to be near it. I heard him say so."
"Ah," said Gandalf, "so you were not asleep during our conversation, then. Frodo Baggins, you are taking lessons from your friend Samwise Gamgee and eavesdropping. Bilbo said he hoped not to see the *Ring* again---and even if he should, he has resisted its power for years and shall do so again. But that does not mean he does not want to see you again. You are not the Ring, Frodo, and it is not a part of you."
"I know." Frodo winced as Aragorn and Sam turned him back over onto his back. "Although it is difficult to forget that sometimes, being known as the Ring-bearer. And . . . the Ring seems to already have a power over me as well, though I am loathe to admit it."
The wizard leaned closer to him and smiled. "You will fight it, Frodo. But right now you need to rest and not worry about anything. Although," he added ruefully, "I have tried this tack with you before, and it did little good. Your curiosity gets the better of you, my dear hobbit."
Frodo smiled weakly. "I know, Gandalf." He sighed . . . the warm water had lessened his discomfort, and now Aragorn and Sam were drying him off with fluffy towels. That done, they eased another soft nightshirt over Frodo's head, lifting him slightly off the bed and pulling it down. The hobbit grimaced as his leg was repositioned and Aragorn turned him onto his side, placing the mound of pillows around Frodo as they had been earlier, effectively immobilizing his leg and keeping the bedclothes off of it. Then he tucked the hot water bottles in more closely around the hobbit and covered him snugly with the blankets.
"There, Frodo," Aragorn said as he removed the towel from around the hobbit's head. "Feeling warmer? Now Elrond will be here in a bit to check on you and I will take care of your leg. Sam, if you would, see if Frodo will take more of that tea---we *must* get more liquids into him . . ."
The sounds of Aragorn's voice faded out a bit as a wave of pain assailed Frodo. He moaned and closed his eyes, and Aragorn and Sam stopped what they were doing immediately. Pulling the covers back, Aragorn could see that Frodo's tiny hands were white-knuckled where they clutched his belly. The ranger sighed. The severity of the pain was not a good sign---it likely meant the poison was spreading.
To be continued
Mesmerized, Bilbo reached up to touch the Ring . . . and a shadow momentarily clouded his vision. He grimaced, sucking his breath in, and closed his eyes to collect himself. After a few deep breaths the shadow passed and Bilbo opened his eyes to quickly cover the Ring with the edge of Frodo's blanket. Now hidden, the urge to touch the Ring was gone.
Sighing with relief, Bilbo hugged Frodo to him more tightly before drawing his hand away to smooth back the younger hobbit's sweat-soaked bangs. Frodo lay quiescent in Bilbo's arms, his face buried in the older hobbit's shoulder, seemingly asleep. About them a few elves busied themselves with changing Frodo's bed and tending to the fire in the hearth.
Bilbo nearly jumped as he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder. Startled, he jerked his head up to see Gandalf towering over him.
The wizard spoke, his voice low. "I see Frodo is asleep then, finally. Good. And you, Bilbo, are you all right, old friend? You looked rather upset just before I came over here. Almost as if you were in pain."
Bilbo sniffed and looked at the bedside table, busying himself with pouring a cup of tea before raising his eyes to Gandalf's.
"It was . . . the Ring, Gandalf," Bilbo whispered. "For just a moment there, I saw it about Frodo's neck and felt a . . . a yearning for it. But it passed quickly."
"Ah, so that was it. The pull of the Ring. But I never had any doubts, Bilbo, that you would be able to resist its temptation---remember, you gave up the Ring willingly."
The old hobbit nodded. "Yes . . . perhaps so. At any rate, I hope I shall never have to look at it again."
"Are you certain you are all right now? Frodo still wears the Ring, after all."
"Yes, Gandalf, the feeling of wanting the Ring has passed. I am all right---although I must admit," Bilbo said as he pointedly looked down at Frodo, tucking the blankets more tightly about him, "I am feeling very much like a hobbit of over one hundred years old just now."
The wizard sighed. "Yes, old friend, I understand." He smiled. "I remember holding Frodo when he was but a boy and ill with a fever and begging for tales of the world outside the Shire. I must have spent long hours telling him epic adventure stories. Now, I suppose he has experienced enough adventure of his own that stories would likely be unwelcome."
The bundle in Bilbo's arms stirred slightly and a weak voice issued from it. "No, Gandalf . . . I will always enjoy your stories---especially here. Rivendell seems made for stories . . . as long as they are happy. I think I've had enough of dark tales for a while . . ." The voice trailed off wearily.
The wizard patted Frodo's shoulder gently, his eyes clouded with sadness.
"Frodo, my lad," said Bilbo, shifting the hobbit in his arms a bit, "if you are awake drink some ginger tea for me. All right? Here." He was just about to take the cup from the bedside table when a gasp of pain escaped Frodo and he stiffened for a moment in Bilbo's arms.
"Frodo? Frodo, what is it?" Bilbo asked him quickly. "Where does it hurt?"
Barely able to speak, Frodo choked, "My stomach--it hurts."
"There, there, my dear boy," Bilbo soothed, rocking his charge gently as he looked up and exchanged a glance with Gandalf. The wizard took one look at Frodo's pale sweat-soaked face and headed for the door to fetch Elrond or Aragorn.
But at the same moment Aragorn and Sam bustled back into the room carrying a steaming vat of athelas water, fresh hot water bottles, and various other medicinal herbs and sundries. And in Bilbo's lap, Frodo relaxed again, the spasm of pain having passed.
"Aragorn," Gandalf told him, once again peering down at the small patient, "Frodo was in some severe pain only a moment ago."
The ranger nodded, his face grim, as he set his supplies down and went to Frodo, feeling his pulse and forehead before gently easing him off the older hobbit's lap. It was a bit difficult since Frodo had wrapped his arms firmly around Bilbo's neck and didn't seem to want to let go. Frodo whimpered a bit in protest as he was lifted from his warm spot and his leg slightly jostled again.
"Easy, little one," Aragorn told the hobbit in his arms as Frodo caught his breath in pain, "It's back to bed with you now. We'll give you something to ease the pain right away and help put you to sleep."
Frowning, Bilbo spoke up. "Aragorn . . . perhaps I should have held him a while longer . . ."
"No, I am all right," Frodo said wearily, his eyes still closed, "the pain is gone now, really. No need for a fuss. It is only me, the ever-accident prone hobbit . . ."
Ignoring Frodo, the ranger shook his head. "No, Bilbo, but we must keep his leg as immobile as possible and a bed is really the only way to do that. Once we get him settled he will be more comfortable, I assure you." He glanced at the weariness written in Bilbo's face. "Bilbo, truly, you could help the most by going and fetching Elrond right away. We may need to give Frodo another dose of the treacle soon. And on the way---why don't you go to supper---and have Merry and Pippin accompany you?"
Bilbo nodded. "Very well, I will get Elrond and a bite to eat. But I'll only be gone a short while---then I'm coming right back to sit with Frodo." He gathered Merry and Pippin up with a glance and the three left the room. Gandalf took Bilbo's vacated chair by the bed, his eyes questioning.
"Aragorn, was Elrond not planning on coming to check on Frodo shortly anyway?"
The ranger nodded. "Yes, Gandalf, he was planning to be here within the hour--- but it would ease my mind if he would come now." His eyes told the wizard that he was afraid for Frodo---but wouldn't voice that notion in front of the ill hobbit---or Sam, who was watching them both with eyes practically threatening to spill over with tears.
The bed was now made with fresh linens and Sam covered it with towels to keep it dry while they sponged Frodo down. The ranger gently deposited Frodo on the soft bed, carefully easing the injured leg down as the hobbit grimaced. It obvious that Frodo's calf, under the athelas compress, was swelling rapidly and becoming increasingly painful.
"May I have my blankets back? It is very cold here . . . " Frodo mumbled, his eyes closed, as he felt Aragorn and Sam unwrapping the blankets from about him. His nightshirt was still wet and clammy, sticking to him, and he shivered as the coverings came away.
"It is necessary to warm you up, Frodo," Aragorn told him gently as the ranger drew a small limp arm out of a sleeve. "Trust me, you'll be feeling better afterward. Here, Sam . . . unbutton and take this off over his head while I lift him up, that's it . . ."
"There, Mr. Frodo," Sam told him softly as he and Aragorn pulled the soaked nightshirt off, leaving the sick hobbit shivering for a moment as the cold air hit his naked body. Taking a clean towel, the ranger dabbed at Frodo's face with it and wrapped it around the hobbit's head to dry his hair. Then, he placed more towels containing the hot water bottles around him.
Aragorn and Sam worked with quiet efficiency, sponging Frodo down with the warm athelas water. Frodo did have to admit it that the warmth felt good on his skin, and he sighed and relaxed, turning his head toward the side of the bed and trying to focus.
"Aragorn?" Frodo asked as he squinted up at the ranger's face. "Bilbo . . . did Bilbo leave? I cannot seem to see clearly."
"Your blurred vision is a side effect of the poison, Frodo," Aragorn told him as he and Sam eased Frodo onto his side to wash his back. "It will go away once the venom is out of your system. And Bilbo just left to get some fresh air and a bit of supper. He will be back shortly."
At this, Frodo's eyes opened widely and he stared off into space, unable to focus clearly on Gandalf in the chair. "It's the Ring, isn't it?" Frodo asked as a sigh escaped him. "Bilbo is not coming back, is he? Because I wear the Ring and he does not want to be near it. I heard him say so."
"Ah," said Gandalf, "so you were not asleep during our conversation, then. Frodo Baggins, you are taking lessons from your friend Samwise Gamgee and eavesdropping. Bilbo said he hoped not to see the *Ring* again---and even if he should, he has resisted its power for years and shall do so again. But that does not mean he does not want to see you again. You are not the Ring, Frodo, and it is not a part of you."
"I know." Frodo winced as Aragorn and Sam turned him back over onto his back. "Although it is difficult to forget that sometimes, being known as the Ring-bearer. And . . . the Ring seems to already have a power over me as well, though I am loathe to admit it."
The wizard leaned closer to him and smiled. "You will fight it, Frodo. But right now you need to rest and not worry about anything. Although," he added ruefully, "I have tried this tack with you before, and it did little good. Your curiosity gets the better of you, my dear hobbit."
Frodo smiled weakly. "I know, Gandalf." He sighed . . . the warm water had lessened his discomfort, and now Aragorn and Sam were drying him off with fluffy towels. That done, they eased another soft nightshirt over Frodo's head, lifting him slightly off the bed and pulling it down. The hobbit grimaced as his leg was repositioned and Aragorn turned him onto his side, placing the mound of pillows around Frodo as they had been earlier, effectively immobilizing his leg and keeping the bedclothes off of it. Then he tucked the hot water bottles in more closely around the hobbit and covered him snugly with the blankets.
"There, Frodo," Aragorn said as he removed the towel from around the hobbit's head. "Feeling warmer? Now Elrond will be here in a bit to check on you and I will take care of your leg. Sam, if you would, see if Frodo will take more of that tea---we *must* get more liquids into him . . ."
The sounds of Aragorn's voice faded out a bit as a wave of pain assailed Frodo. He moaned and closed his eyes, and Aragorn and Sam stopped what they were doing immediately. Pulling the covers back, Aragorn could see that Frodo's tiny hands were white-knuckled where they clutched his belly. The ranger sighed. The severity of the pain was not a good sign---it likely meant the poison was spreading.
To be continued